


Overlapping Worlds

by littleblackbow



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Wolverine (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Adventure, British Columbia, Canada, Daken Akihiro - Freeform, Gen, Honey Badger, Incursion, Marvel 616 - Freeform, Wolverine - Freeform, Wolverine Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/pseuds/littleblackbow
Summary: Jim lives alone up in the middle of Nowhere near the Canadian Rockies. He lives a normal life, going into town a couple times a week for his fishing supplies, live bait, and groceries. He drives an old pickup truck, and only talks to the few in town who really understand his situation.Life is just fine until suddenly, someone from several pasts removed shows up at his home and makes him think that maybe, just maybe there's more to this world than he had originally thought... or dared to hope.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Overlapping Worlds

Stories are funny things. Of course, there are at least two versions of every story; and probably exponentially more depending on how many people are involved in the story. However, they all have certain things in common - that is, if we’re talking about the same story being told in different ways by different people.

Generally, stories about the same chain of events or following one character tend to have the same characters, setting, and general plot points. That’s how we know they’re all the same, but just being told from different viewpoints. It’s what keeps tales together. It’s what makes humans understand things easier. 

When something happens that is beyond understanding, what we get is another kind of story. But all of this is difficult to explain. I think we will all find it much easier if you hear the story of Jim. You see, Jim was one of the luckiest men in his world, but at the same time fell into a strange and uncomfortable lifetime of unpredictability.

Jim fell through a crack; or perhaps more like a rift. It was during a catastrophic event that you may know as an “incursion.” He went to sleep at night just as he always did in his small bed in his small cabin about thirty miles outside of Peace River, Alberta. But then when he woke up, he was still in his small bed, in his small cabin, still outside of Peace River, Alberta - only everything was about 12% different.

And his old life was gone.

“Where ya goin’ today, Jim?” asked Barry Johnson, the owner of Valley Hardware.

“Dunno. Fishin’,I guess. There’s that small lake halfway up the ridge that had some pike jumpin’ last time I was up there. Thought I might do that unless I get a call.” Jim shrugged, then put some steel wool into his shopping basket. “Where’s that fifty-pound line you were tellin’ me ‘bout?”

Mr. Johnson came out from behind the paint counter and led Jim over to the home decorating section. “I put it over here.”

Jim followed the man over to the other side of the store. It was actually a pretty small store, considering the sort of big warehouse places they had in Calgary. But it had all the basics, and the fewer trips into a big city, the better, Jim thought. “Why’d you put fishing line over by the curtains and lighting?”

“Well, it wasn’t sellin’ over there. You and Carson, and maybe two or three tourists a year come in here to buy fishing line. But all those kids at the high school use this stuff for their projects. And a lot of people use it for hangin’ things from the ceiling and around the house.” Mr. Johnson stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It was my daughter’s idea. She’s a clever one, so I always listen to her. Not that you’d know now, but if you ever do have kids, make sure you make them smarter than you.”

Jim put two spools of fishing line in his basket. “Well, first thing, I ain’t gonna have any kids. Gotta have a woman to have kids, right? Second thing, if I did, I wouldn’t know how to make ‘em smart. If they follow their old man, they wouldn’t have enough common sense to fill a thimble.”

“Whatever you say, Jim. Only reason you don’t have a woman is ‘cause you don’t want one.”

“Too right you are! Nope, I’ve got this life, and the way it is, I have no right to inflict it on some poor, unsuspecting lady that comes along. Nope. Best to just keep on doin’ what I do and hope that nothing more exciting happens along the way.” Jim picked up a package of Hammer Brand Turkey Jerky, put it into the basket as well, then went over to the register. “Life does weird stuff to us, Barry. And sometimes it’s best to be cautious and wait to see what’s thrown at us next.”

“As long as you’re good at either hitting, catching, or dodging, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

_oIOIOIo_

As any story progresses, there are various plot points that must happen. The same is true in life. Sometimes we can predict what these plot points are, such as some kind of financial hardship, or the loss of a loved one. But sometimes these life-storms come suddenly over the mountain without giving a man time to prepare.

Jim had been through plenty of those in his life; weathering one after another, alone. With a life like he had led, there wasn’t much room for other people. In fact, he had decided long ago that if he ever did get attached to someone, he had best leave that whole life behind, never to look back or reminisce. 

This solitary life suited him. Oh, he was friends with a few people in town, but other than being friendly on the street, or chatting over a beer down at the bar, he had very little to do with them.

Barry Johnson was something of an exception to this rule; as were Mildred Hawthorne, and Ruta Pagalli. Those three were the only other ones who knew the secret of this world. That this world, although perfectly normal in appearance was a fallacy. Although the four of them had only been here for a few months, they had also been here their entire lives. They arrived after a great storm, somehow waking into a world that was not their own, but also waking into lives that they, or someone like them, had been living forever.

There was nothing in their outward appearances that betrayed the fact that they somehow knew about this strange situation, but somehow they could all recognize those who knew. The deeper knowledge that bound them together made itself known somehow.

So, when Jim drove his rusty old sedan up the pebbled driveway to his cabin, he couldn’t hide the shock when he saw a stranger sitting on the old tree stump in front of his home. A stranger with the same knowledge.

Jim took the keys out of the ignition and just stared at this stranger for a few moments. The young man didn’t look familiar in the least, and yet he was just sitting there, leaned over with his elbows on his knees, smiling in what could be described as a nostalgic way.

The stranger was dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, with tribal tattoos covering the entirety of one arm. The man’s hair was cut into a loose mohawk that hung over one shoulder as he sat.

Jim grabbed the paper bag from the hardware store that was sitting on the seat next to him, got out of his car, and went around to the trunk to get his fishing pole, tackle box, and the giant pike and two lake trout he had caught.

As he approached his cabin, the young man sat up, still watching him as he came near. 

“You know how to clean a fish?” Jim asked, holding out the cooler that contained the day’s catch.

The man tilted his head to the side. “I… guess so?”

Jim nodded. “There’s a bench out back. Meet me back there. You got a knife? You look like the sort that might have a knife.”

The stranger chuckled, then stood. “Actually, I don’t. Well, nothing that could be used to clean a fish, anyway.”

“You drink beer?” Jim asked.

“Yeah.”

“Give me five minutes,” Jim disappeared into his cabin, leaving the stranger there, staring after him. After a few moments the other man walked around to the back of the cabin, shaking his head as he went.

Jim came out with the bucket of fish in one hand, two bottles of beer in the other, with a butcher’s knife roll set under one arm. He had taken off his plaid shirt, and was just wearing his undershirt and a long butcher’s apron. What with the hair all over his arms, his attire, and the way he lumbered over to his workbench surrounded by pine trees, he gave every impression of what one might consider a mountain man from a fairy-tale.

He went over to his workbench and plonked the bucket of fish on the stool.

“So, you’ve come up here to see me? Kind of a long hike for most people.”

The stranger stood next to Jim. “I’m not like most people.”

“Nope. I can see that. You have this look about ya.” Jim put one of the trout in front of the stranger and then took the pike out and put it in front of himself on the table. Now, if you’ve never seen a northern pike before, you might be in for something of a shock. It is not a small fish. In fact, the one fish alone could have sustained a man for the rest of the week. But since he had already caught the two lake trout, there wasn’t much sense in throwing them back. All that being said, a northern pike is not something that any normal man might easily bring in by himself. Most people would have their fishing buddy with them to help bring in 15-kilogram fish.

But like his visitor, Jim wasn’t not like most people.

“Do you want to know why I’m here?” The stranger asked.

“What’s your name?”

“Oh, yeah. My name’s… Dan.”

Jim gave Dan a sideways glance. “You sure about that? I mean, you don’t sound very sure.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s what people call me, anyway.” Dan paused for a moment in his scraping of the scales. “They do now.”

Jim was far more skilled at gutting the fish than Dan was, but the young man could definitely filet. They worked in silence for several minutes, cleaning the fish, setting the filets aside, pushing the chum into a boil bag, and drinking their beers.

When the fish were cleaned, Jim took them inside to the kitchen and motioned for Dan to follow him. The inside of the cabin was sparse. Aside from the kitchen area, there was one large room with a fireplace, and two doors that led off to another area. In the corner fo the large room, there was a bed with a small bookshelf as a footboard. Next to the fireplace, there was one chair, a stump of wood that was in the place of a footstool, and a side table that held a single lamp. 

Next to the front door, there was another small table upon which Jim had tossed his keys and wallet, and on the other side of the door a closet and a few pegs that held up a few plaid shirts and a winter coat.

Jim motioned to the door next to the bed. “The bathroom and shower is through that door. Go ahead and wash up. Then after you eat something, you tell me what you want.”

“What?” Dan snapped back at Jim.

“Well, you stink of fish, and you’ve got those trout guts up to yer elbows. So, first you shower. Then, you tell me what you want from me. You came up here for a reason, and it wasn’t to sit around jaw-jacking and cleanin’ my fish. So, after we eat, you tell me why you’re here.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Dan did as he was told, and Jim filled a pot with water and potatoes and turned on the heat. Then he took a cigar from the box on the kitchen window sill, lit it on the stove, and went outside.

All the hair on his body bristled when he thought about what was coming. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected this. But he’d grown used to this life that was so different from what he used to be. Jim wasn’t eager to be pulled out of it. He lit the cigar,and took a pair of reading spectacles and a small note out of his breast pocket. Opening the scrap of paper, he read over those lines he’d written so long ago.

_Each world is the same and each world is different._

_Don’t expect anything to last._

_Leave the last world behind and start fresh every time._

_Go along with anyone who knows you._

_You have a part to play, but the world only knows what that is._

The rush of pine needles flicking at the wind brought his thoughts back to the present. Tucking the note and his glasses back into his pocket, Jim sat there and smoked. The hills were noisy neighbors, but this kind of noise brought him peace and calm. It took his mind off of lost worlds, lost friends, and kin that seemed to be transient.

“Fish boil’s gonna be done,” he muttered to himself as he stood and brushed the wood chips off his jeans. All of the other garbage floating around in his head could wait until after they’d had some food. 

“You still have questions.” Dan had come out of the shower and was still drying his hair, wearing a pair of Jim’s old sweatpants. They were at least six inches too short for him. “I’ve got a few, myself.”

Jim went to the kitchen and took two mis-matched bowls down from the shelf above the sink. He looked around and found two dirty spoons, washed them, and put one in each bowl. “I reckon you’re in some kind of hurry. Maybe we should talk about it over dinner.”

“I guess I’m in a rush. I mean… well, that’s getting kind of ahead of things. I suppose I should give you a little more background before I get into the story.” Dan folded the towel in half and slung it over the back of one of the two chairs in the small cabin. He sat down and combed his fingers through his long mohawk until the hair was untangled, then pulled it back.

Jim put a bowl of the fish stew on the able in front of Dan and spooned out another for himself. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Well, first, I think I should tell you about a few strange things that have been happening in this world. It’s a bunch of stuff most people don’t really know about. Government secrets and stuff.” He stirred up the stew until a potato floated to the top. “This all goes back, maybe, twenty or so years. It’s hard for me to tell time these days - since everything got mixed up.”

“You mean, when the worlds overlapped?” Jim sat down and spooned a large chunk of fish into his mouth. “I know all about those. Been through my share of them in my lifetime.”

The room fell silent. Dan paused with the potato on his spoon and just stared at it for a while. He looked as if he was carefully considering what to say.

“Sorry,” Jim said, “go ahead with what you were saying.”

Dan shook his head. “Yeah, well... anyway, this weird thing happens whenever the worlds overlap. If you’ve been through it, you probably know that some people get stuck here and others disappear. But at the same time, it’s like nothing was ever different.” He put the potato in his mouth and spooned up a piece of fish. “These are the ones we just cleaned, right?”

“Yeah. Well, the pike, anyway. I’m gonna get that trout started smoking in the morning.” Jim could tell something was off. Why hadn’t this young man continued his story? He had to have been in some kind of hurry, or he wouldn’t have traveled all the way up to his cabin. He could have easily have looked for him in town, or even just called.

“I like smoked fish,” Dan said.

“Well, you cleaned ‘em, you can have some once they’re done.” There was no sense in asking for explanations. The young man would open up in his own time.

“This is good.” Dan took a few more bites of fish and potato, and then drank the broth. 

“A woman used to live in Wisconsin, she taught me how to make it. It’s always best when the fish is fresh and the potatoes are home-grown. Those store potatoes been sittin’ around too long and they get all starchy and fall apart.”

“You grow your own potatoes, too?” Dan smiled softly, just looking down into his bowl. He pushed around the vegetables and found another chunk of fish. “You’re so different.”

“Different from what? Other people? I guess. Although there are a lot of us up here who do a lot of fending for ourselves.” Jim knew what he was talking about. Of course he knew. The man sitting across from him knew the other Jim, or was it James? Maybe in this world, he was Mr. Howlett. There was no way of telling what kind of person he’d replaced when he showed up that day. 

“You’re a lot calmer than I’d expected. I had been counting on you being very aggressive and maybe angry.”

“You’re pretty calm, yourself.” Jim put his spoon on the table and put his bowl aside. “The Daken I knew in that other world was a hothead who would never sit at a table and politely ask a man about growing potatoes and cleaning fish. Especially if that man was me.” Dan looked up with a defensive expression. There was fire behind those eyes. One corner of Jim’s mouth curled up. “So, either you’re far better at controlling your temper than he was, and you’re here because you are in some dire need of my help; or you’re nothing like him at all and your problem is probably petty by comparison.”

“You’re not making this easy,” Dan admitted.

“No, I’m not. I’ve learned to be a patient man in my countless years of dealing with idiots, but I would still like to know why you’re here and what you need me for.” Jim looked down at the two bowls. Dan’s was nearly empty. “You want more?”

“There’s a girl, she’s basically my sister,” he started. “She came up here hunting some monster, and she’s gone missing. Now, normally I wouldn’t go after her; she’s pretty good at taking care of herself.”

“Why are you coming to me for help?” Jim picked up both bowls and took them into the kitchen.

Dan hissed between his teeth. “I may have the fighting skills, but as much as I hate to admit it, I just don’t have the tracking skills.”

The world was pulling on him. Jim had felt this before, but he couldn’t quite figure out where or when. The familiar was becoming slightly twisted, and things he thought were new were now giving him a sense of nostalgia. This was one of the most uncomfortable things about living in the wrong world. It was the constant deja vu that caused a kind of vertigo when something from another world overlapped with the current one.

However, in this case, instead of feeling like some rope was wrapping around him, it was more like someone was cutting the ropes and releasing his safety net.

His universe was screaming for him to go along with this path of destiny.

After putting the dishes in the sink, Jim pointed to the bed in the corner. “Try to get some sleep. I’m going to put things away and then get the trout started smoking.” He poured the rest of dinner into a plastic container and tucked it into the fridge, then took out two bottles of beer.

It had been so long; could he still do this?

Slowly, one metal claw extended from between the first and second knuckles on his right hand. He slid it under the edge of both bottle caps and with one motion, popped them both off. A moment later, the claw retracted and his skin mended itself.

He turned back to his guest, who had been watching him.

“My cheap parlor trick. I guess I’ll get to use ‘em again, won’t I?” Jim handed one of the bottles to Dan.

“Yeah, you’ll be using those. Make sure you wear something you don’t care too much about.” Dan took a long swig from the bottle and then went over to the bed. “I can promise you there will be blood.”

_oIOIOIo_

When Jim Howlett said “morning,” what he meant was about an hour before the sun even thought of rising. This meant that when his guest woke up at the break of dawn, he was already packed and ready to go.

“Don’t know where we’re goin’ yet, or how far away. If you could give me a little more insight, that might help.” Jim tossed one of his old jackets at Dan. “Here, it’s gonna get cold.”

“Aah, yeah, I’m not usually affected by the cold,” Dan admitted, holding it up to his chest.

“No, but normal people are, and if anyone sees you, they’re gonna think you’re nuts to be traipsing about in the woods wearing just that jeans and T-shirt. Now, do you have some starting point for this search? Where should we start looking?”

Dan put on the jacket and zipped it up halfway. “I have the location where her phone GPS turned off.”

“Wait, her phone turned off? Why didn’t you say so, we could have started last night. Do you think something happened?” Jim had packed two backpacks. He picked up the smaller one and tossed it at his guest.

“Yeah, I think she forgot to charge her extra battery.” He chuckled nervously. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s got some pretty resilient DNA; she’s probably just lost up there.”

Resilient DNA piqued Jim’s interest. He hadn’t thought about the missing girl as being anything but a human. “If she’s resilient and, I assume, a mutant, then why do we need to go find her?”

The two men walked out to the truck. Jim never bothered to lock his door. It didn’t make much sense to lock anything out when there was nobody around, and the only people who managed to find their way through the dense forest, the gravel trails, and the occasional elk crossing were friends whom Jim trusted.

There was just enough sunlight to make a path in the forest pitch from the cabin to the truck. The doors to the truck were also unlocked. “You sure trust people,” Dan commented as he reached over for the seatbelt. “No locks on the house or your truck, you invite me out back to skin and gut some fish before you even know my name, and now you’re running off on a search mission without knowing anything about the situation.”

“I know plenty. So far I’ve known you in four worlds, I’ve met your kin in three of them. Most of the time you’ve got a few screws loose, but you’re certainly not going to beat me in a fight. And to be fair, even if you did, it wouldn’t do much good. I have a decent idea who you’re looking for, too.” Jim backed down the long, winding gravel path from his cabin to the main (one lane) road that would lead into town. “You’re hiring me for my instincts. I’m accepting based on what they tell me about you.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“So, do you really go by Dan, or are you usually called Daken in this world?” Jim switched on the headlights.

“Oh, I guess Daken, then. I mean, if you’re okay with that. The other you - the one that disappeared - well, we didn’t get along too well.”

“Yeah, the first Daken I knew was a huge asshole, too. Still, sometimes I miss that brat. Especially when I was stuck in a world where…” Jim reached up and touched the pocket that held his reminder note. “... nah, forget it. I’m in this one now. Gotta make do with what I get.”

Dan - Daken looked down at his phone and checked the map to try to break the awkward silence. “Okay, looks like we should turn up at the junction with road 102. Is that a county road or provincial road, or some kind of highway? Canada’s got me kind of mixed up.”

“We just call it 102.”

“Aah. That makes sense. Turn right up there, and then we head up into the mountains, then there’s a kind of winding road that goes up and branches off, oh, maybe a few more inches - I mean centimeters. Wait, hold on, let me convert that…”

“You’re a terrible navigator.” Jim grabbed the phone out of Daken’s hand and glanced at the screen. “Hmph,” he grunted, and tossed it back into the passenger’s lap. “Clancey’s Glacier; that’s all you needed to say.”

“You’re kind of a jerk.”

“Yup. But I’m the best there is at what I do, and if you’re the best at something, then being a jerk can be overlooked. Especially when someone is looking for your particular skill and nobody else will do.” Jim turned up 102 and started heading west up the mountains. It was still cold in the early morning, and the only other traffic on the roads were tankers and some supply trucks, probably heading out east to the refineries.

Canada had changed. Well, everything had changed. But the Canada Jim had grown up in had been full of loggers and farmers, fisheries on the coasts, and snow peas in the middle. This world’s Canada had turned into mining and shale processing and oil pipelines. Of course, there would always be mountains and fishing. This place felt like the future version of a world he’d been to before.

“All Canadas have hockey,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking. I’ve lived in several different realities, and each one is vastly different from the one before. But there’s one constant; all Canadas have hockey.” He reached over and opened the storage space between the seats, pulled out a cigar and settled it in his mouth. “Who’s your team?”

“Oh, hockey team? I don’t have time to follow--”

“Mine’s the Flames. Although I always have a soft spot for the Canucks.” Jim didn’t bother to light the cigar. He never smoked inside his truck as a rule, but it was more of a comfort thing for him. He felt on edge, and the closer they got to the starting point, the more certain he was that this world had even more surprises in store.

Worlds tended to do that, he learned. They were unpredictable things that could easily fit him into a life with a wife and full family in a land that was utterly accepting of mutants and their abilities, and then just as easily set him into the life of a nomadic traveler in a post-apocalyptic wasteland that had been torn apart by giant robot reapers that had lost their programming centuries ago and were not running rampant across the face of the planet harvesting all resources they could find just to keep running.

He had often yearned for that mild chaos from his first home; at least the first one he had remembered. It was, in his mind, his true origin story, and it was also the only world that he could fully remember; never to be mixed up in the real or fabricated memories of all those other realities. Sometimes he wondered if the universe had some kind of plan to find him a new home that was similar to his first one. 

Either way, this world, or perhaps just this job, was not entirely what it seemed to be.

It would be another hour’s drive up to the glacier. Jim was a cautious man in that part of the woods. Not only were there several herds of elk and moose around, all traveling along ancient paths, oblivious to the machines of man, but the roads could be icy, even at this time of year. 

Without notice, Daken began talking. “This girl we’re going after is pretty special. You know, I never knew my mother, and my father… well, I’m not gonna talk about him. So, this kid is about as close to a sister as I’m ever gonna get, sharing the same DNA and all.”

“I don’t need to know about your family problems. What do you know that could help us find the girl. You keep saying a bunch of personal stuff that doesn’t mean anything to me, and still, the only think you can tell me about this person is that she came up here and now you need to find her.”

Jim pulled the truck over to the side of the road. “Now, who is she, what’s she doing up here? How long has she been here? Can she take care of herself for a day or two, or is she probably curled up somewhere dying because you’re taking too damn long?”

“Jeez, man.”

“No, you start fessing up, or I’ll leave you here to find her on your own. Who is this girl and why did you come to ME to find her?”

Daken bit his lip.His brow furrowed for a moment, and then the man let out a long sigh as his shoulders slumped and he tilted his head back. “Her name’s Gabby; we call her Honey Badger. She’s got my DNA - your DNA - because she’s a clone of a clone of you.”

“What the hell is going on in this world?” Jim muttered, shaking his head.

“Believe me, it’s pretty fucked up. Anyway, there are a few of us who have been looking for her, but she’s pretty good at hiding. So, we thought one of us should come and find you. That maybe you could… well, with your special abilities, you could help us.”

“What about your abilities?” Jim started up the engine and pulled into traffic again.

“Aah, it isn’t that we couldn’t track her. I mean, in time, sure. But you-- you grew up out here. This is your world, and you would know better than anyone how to find someone lost up in these mountains. Besides, there’s a beast up here that I’m not sure even I could take down.” Daken looked down at his hands. “So, that brings me to the next bit, I guess.”

“You’re my son. Or at least the other version of me from this world. Not mine. Not really.” 

Daken didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window looking at the trees and mountains passing them by.

“Whoever you think I am, just remember that these worlds overlap and there’s nothing left of the person who used to be here. I’m stuck in his place, and although I may look like the loving father you had, I’m not him. In the world I’m from, I didn’t even know I had a son until it was years too late to do anything about it. Not that I could have done anything, anyway. My life is a mess. Always has been, and probably always will be. The best I can ever do is hide away and make sure everyone stays safe.”

“Life isn’t supposed to be safe.”

“No, well, it ain’t supposed to end up in a pool of blood and death every time, either.” Jim turned off onto a side road that wound up and around the forest to an unmarked parking area. “We’ll go on foot from here. Now, if I’m going to track her, you outta know a few things. I don’t work well with others unless… well, there were a few a long time ago, but it takes a lot to earn my trust. And if I am workin’ alone, it ain’t time for talking or reminiscing. So…”

“Got it. Stand back and shut up.” Daken’s whole body was on edge. “I forgot how much of an asshole you can be.”

Jim got out of the truck, slammed the door, then picked up his pack from the truck bed. “Sounds like your version of Jim and I have a lot in common, after all.”

Daken grabbed his backpack and stood upright, confident. He flashed a toothy smile. “He wasn’t Jim. He was Wolverine. Or Logan as his friends called him.”

At that, Jim stopped. Memories of a past from long ago flashed in his mind. The mansion, the sentinels, the school, Jeannie, Elf, Blue, Slim. It was so long ago, at least a dozen worlds ago in fact, since he’d seen any of them. It was that long since he’d been Wolverine. Since he’d used the name Logan. “Ancient history,” he whispered to himself.

Jim glanced over at Daken, who was still smiling. “You know it, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He strode into the woods. “Come on, we’re gonna climb up to the ridge. It’s a better vantage point.” It would have been easier if they could have teleported up there. Or maybe carried there on the wind, or thrown in a fastball special.

The man who was walking up the mountain was not the same one who knew all of those people long ago. He wasn’t the same one who lived in the wastelands and survived by slaughtering giant prehistoric beasts. And after meeting this man who shared his own DNA, he wasn’t even sure he was the same man who had bought fishing line at the hardware store the day before. 

After a steep climb, the two men emerged at the top of the ridge. Looking out over the stark mountains, the lush forest, and glimmering pools of glacial lakes flicking the sunlight back at them, Jim’s memories hit him like the riptide. Another man stood here, over a century ago, looking out on the same mountains, but with a fresh realization. The young man had been shaken to the bones, having lost everything he’d known. “This place…” He couldn’t find the words.

“What? Did you see something? Maybe smell something?” Daken stood a few paces behind him. Jim could smell the man’s attitude and feel that arrogant stance.

“No. It’s just nostalgia. Useless stuff.” And just like that, Jim willed his past away, and shifted focus to the present - to finding this girl, and whatever danger might be out there. Jim crouched down on the rock and focused his gaze over the chiseled landscape. A century of practice in observation taught him everything he needed to know; which movements were from critters, which were from the wind, which trees were alive and well, and which ones were damaged and crying out in pain. There could be a twig snap, and a limb snap. Most people could never tell the difference from this distance, however, Jim wasn’t most people.

In a long past, he was one with this land. He was Logan - The Wolverine.

Nostalgia. Useless? Not anymore.

“What do you see?” Daken crouched next to him and looked out in the same direction.

“Hear it?” Jim asked. He closed his eyes and his jaw clenched as if he was bracing for a punch.

“I don’t hear anything,” Daken whispered.

“Nope. That’s the problem. There’s an elk trail right down there. Should be at least twenty head this time of year, plus some little ones; but instead we got nothing.” He leaned down on all fours, his hands clutching at the rock, one leg out behind him and the other curled up under his torso as if he was planning to sprint. “There’s something else out there that’s scared ‘em away.”

Daken stared down at the forest. “I don’t see anything.”

“And that’s why you hired me.” Jim slowly and silently pushed himself up. He sat on the rock and re-laced his boots from the toe all the way up. Taking off his jacket and his flannel shirt, he folded them and lay them down neatly over the rock. Then he meticulously rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt, tucked it in under his belt and smoothed back his hair.

Daken stared at him, then a smile crept up from one corner of his mouth. “Old habits die hard,” he stated, and then pulled off his own jacket and shirt and flung them on the ground. “Bet you’re wishing for your brown and tans right now.”

Jim ignored his companion and stood up at the edge of the rock face again. Extending his claws, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that this felt so right. The hunt, the smells of the forest, the instincts he’d suppressed for so long, and the partner standing with him, ready to take out the unknown. “You got claws?” he asked, turning to glance over at Daken.

“Of course.” Daken’s own claws popped out, and Jim smiled.

Down below, something was moving. It was huge, lumbering, and was giving off a putrid smell of rotting flesh and mold. The two men began making their way down the cliff, and then through the treetops, jumping from one to the next until they could get eyes on the beast.

“Wendigo?” Daken whispered.

Jim shook his head. “Worse. It’s a rancid; something from the last world I was in.”

“So you’ve gone up against these things before.”

“They were all over the wasteland. Some of the dinosaurs would make an easy snack of the babies, but once they get to a certain size, there’s not much that can take one down.” Jim stopped at the top of a tree and held up his hand in a fist signalling for Daken to stop and be quiet. “There,” he whispered.

Down in the woods, wrapped around a tree was a long, gangly creature with a bulbous hunched back that was covered in huge blisters and boils. Its sickly pink and green skin glistened with a putrid slime, and the sharp teeth stuck out in all directions from its gaping maw.

“That mouth is all about snapping shut. Its bite force is stronger than a gator’s; strong enough to snap one of these trees in half. So, don’t get close to the mouth.”

Daken just nodded, awestruck by the beast that was crawling before them. “How do you take it down?”

“Claws to the brain. There’s a spot on the back of its neck, you can see that lump there? But it will also have a den somewhere around here. You need to go find it. As long as that den’s around, it will be sharper and faster than either of us.” 

Jim scanned the forest area.

“Are you serious?”

“Listen, I spent years in the wasteland with these things. The best thing we could do is hope it runs into a pack of raptors, where half of ‘em would sacrifice themselves to kill the thing. But since we ain’t got raptors around here, we’ll have to make do with what we got.” 

They jumped down onto the forest floor, and carefully made their way around to where the cliff sprang up behind the beast. Daken was breathing heavily, and yet smiling as he stared at the giant, slimy body that stood before them. “This thing smells vile.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even broken skin yet.” Jim crept forward.

“This gets worse? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Jim looked over the area and spotted a place where the trees were beginning to yellow and brown. “The den is probably over there. You will need to cut off the psychic node. It’ll be pink and hanging down with a bulb underneath”

“Wait, what? You want me to cut off the ball sac of a monster den while you jump on its back and poke it in the brain?” Daken stared down at the creature. It had settled on the ground, resting with its legs sprawled between the trees.

“It’s not… okay, yeah, it looks like a scrotum. Just cut it off, and the rancid won’t be able to concentrate on anything. That’s gonna be our only chance. Then, if we survive, we can go look for your girl.” Jim leapt to another tree closer to the beast.

“Tch… you get all the fun.” Daken joked.

“Believe me, this ain’t a one-person job. And you’re gonna have plenty of fun with that den. There are all kinds of parasites and nasty crawlers in it.”

“Well, shit.” Daken crept off in the direction of the dying trees.

It was too much to hope that the brat wouldn’t be noticed by the creature. Rancids couldn’t hear very well, but their sense of smell was better than a bear’s. They smelled with their tongues like a lizard, but then if they liked what they smelled, their saliva became toxic.

The rancid swung its head around and slung out that long black tongue, smelling the area. “Damn,” Jim whispered. If it caught wind of Daken before he made it to the den, the poor kid didn’t stand a chance. It couldn’t be helped.

Jim moved out from behind the tree to face the creature. The giant beast’s head whipped around, spraying putrid slime all over the trees and forest floor. “God damn, you stink,” he said as he turned his head slightly in disgust. The creature took a careful step toward him, shifting its gaze to the tiny man who stood there.

The rancid snapped its jaws just as Jim jumped out of the way. Saliva sprayed everywhere, burning the underbrush, the trees, and anything it touched. A stream flung across Jim’s t-shirt, instantly reducing it to shreds. “Just like old times, isn’t it?” he said to himself as he slashed at one leg.

It was no good, he had to get up high and come down at the beast from above. How many times had he done this in the wastelands? Too many to count. But he always ended up broken, wounded, relying on his healing factor for survival as he did his best to hide from other predators. In the wastelands he was alone. Now he was fighting with… 

… with Daken of all people.

Then, everything seemed to happen at once. The creature howled and twisted in agony; an indication that Daken had succeeded in his task. As soon as it let its guard down, Jim raced toward it, jumped up against a tree and launched himself at the beast. His aim was true, but as he came closer, the rancid twisted its neck, blocking off its skull and facing Jim with a mouth full of teeth. 

But as the first wave of slime slipped toward him, the smell of sulfur filled the air. One moment later, Jim found himself falling directly toward the skull at the base of its neck with a fuzzy blue tail wrapped around his waist. Down below, a flash of silver steel came through the trees, carrying a boulder the size of a truck.

“Mein Gott, freund, you have found a creature that smells even worse than I do,” a soft voice told him over his shoulder. 

Jim plunged all six adamantium claws deep into the skull as a small mountain of rock crushed that mouth of teeth.

“Stay strong, Comrades! By Lenin’s grave, we shall not allow this beast to wander free!” The voice came from below.

Jim felt the skull crush under his weight as the flesh and slime from the horrid creature engulfed his hands. His hands passed through the tough bone as if it was a cracker, then twisted, grabbed, and squeezed all the life out of that brain. Almost immediately, the beast fell to the ground, and splattered in a pool of putrid flesh.

“Oh, this is far more disgusting than I ever imagined,” Daken commented as he came into the clearing.

The blue elf transported both of them in a bamf of sulfur over to the treeline near Colossus. For a moment, the three of them just stood there, staring at each other. Then Jim took a step back. His face was painted with confusion and disbelief, then other emotions washed over him and he collapsed to kneel on the ground. 

“Honeybadger?” Daken’s voice was directed to one of the other men.

“She is safe, comrade. Beast has taken her back to camp.”

“Ze fraulein needs water and food. She will recover, thank God.”

Jim smiled, then began to laugh. It was all so familiar, so real, and so comfortable. If it was real at all. “This is a dream. If I wake up, I swear I will not be able to go on.”

He felt three fingers on the top of his head and a soft, furry forehead pressed against his own. “You are not asleep, mein freund. You are home. We have been looking for you for a long time.”

“We need your help, comrade. So many of these monsters have come across this time.”

Daken walked over to Jim and held out his hand. “Come on, Logan.” He pulled the man up and patted him on the back. “You can’t hide up in that cabin forever. Now, I know things are different from when you left. But this is your world.”

Jim patted Daken on the arm, then turned to Nightcrawler and held his arms open. The furry blue elf immediately accepted his hug, “I am happy beyond words to have my best friend back,” he whispered.

Somehow, by the strangest chance of fate - something that Nightcrawler would attribute to the hand of God from that moment on - the original Wolverine, James Logan Howlett born in the shadow of the Canadian Rockies, had made his way home. Not the home he was expecting, not a new home created by so many overlapping worlds combining into something he had to re-learn, but he was living in his real home. With his real family, and kin he could never have imagined.

He would keep the cabin. After all, it was almost paradise for him. During their downtime, he and his friends would come back for fishing and hunting trips. Sometimes he and Daken would go up there and just sit around quietly drinking beer and eating fish and game. 

On one of those occasions, they had built a fire behind the cabin and sat on an old bench, drinking beer; and Jim - Logan - reached into his pocket and pulled out his tiny note to himself, then tossed it into the flames.

“What was that?” his son asked.

“Something I used to read to remind myself that none of these worlds are real.”

“Why’d you burn it, then?”

“Don’t need it. Doesn’t matter if this world is real or not. It’s the best one.” He finished his beer in one shot. “And now I know there’s always a chance of getting back.”

  
  



End file.
